


Sight Unseen

by roebling



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista!Namjoon, Broken Bones, Fluff, Glasses, Hipsters, M/M, Publisher!Yoongi, Self Confidence Issues, grumpy!yoongi, mentions of past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 02:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: When Min Yoongi is told he can't wear his contacts lenses, he decides he'll just go without. 20/20 vision is overrated, anyway. He's managing just fine until the new barista at his regular coffee place decides he wants to befriends.





	Sight Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> A short and rather lighthearted piece of fluff! 
> 
> One note: this is not intended to insult or downplay the seriousness of vision problems or people with impaired vision. It is inspired by my own experiences of not being able to wear my contact lenses and trying to talk to people in situations where glasses wouldn't cut it (like yoga classes). Also by the experience of a coworker who wore her contacts to bed at night and ended up much like Yoongi does in this story :\ Don't wear your contacts to bed!
> 
> Thank you to [mintea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/pseuds/mintea) for the beta read ♥︎♥︎♥︎

It’s fifteen steps from the front door of Yoongi’s building to the end of the block. He takes a right there, and goes another two hundred steps. Then it’s a step up and into the coffee shop. Straight ahead to the counter, where he orders an americano, no room for milk. Back out the door into the streets, where he goes straight again for twelve blocks until he reaches his office building. He stands outside finishing his coffee, tosses the cup, and then heads into the lobby to wait for the elevator to the fifteenth floor, where Big Hit Publishing has its offices. 

He keeps his head down until he gets to his desk, where he opens bag and takes out his glasses. He puts them on and sighs, satisfied. 

It’s pretty damn nice, being able to see the world clearly. Yoongi misses it. 

*****

“No contacts,” the opthamologist said sternly, arms folded. “Not for at least six weeks.” 

Yoongi hung his head. “I’ll make sure to change them every day,” he mumbled, pitiful and contrite. “I’ve learned my lesson.” 

“Yoongi-ssi, I’m sorry, but I really have to insist,” the opthamologist said. “The irritation to your cornea is severe, and with this air quality lately –” She sighed. “– I’m afraid that further irritation could result in permanent damage.” 

Permanent damage? That sounded bad. 

The opthamologist turned to her computer. “Make an appointment for six weeks, Yoongi-ssi, and we’ll reevaluate then, but in the meantime, glasses only.” 

Shit. 

*****

“Good morning,” says the blur behind the counter cheerfully. “Welcome to Ground Floor. What can I get you today?” 

“Where’s Jimin?” Yoongi asks, a little too brusquely. 

The blur shuffles a little – Yoongi can’t see his face, really, not beyond the fuzzy suggestion of dark bright eyes and wide, smiling mouth – and says, “Oh, he’s got the day off.” 

Damnit. It’s awkward enough ordering coffee without being able to actually see, but at least Jimin knows him well enough after two years of steady coffee patronage not to think it too weird when Yoongi squints beadily in his directly. 

But Jimin is a short pink blur, and Taehyung, who usually works mornings with him, is a taller blur with dark hair. This new blur is taller than either of them and has vivid purple hair. 

“Sir?” The tall purple blur says. “Can I help you?” 

Shit. “Uh,” Yoongi says. “I’ll have an americano. No room for milk.” 

He doesn’t even need to give his order with Jimin. They’ve got a routine down, dammit, and Yoongi can’t handle aberrations in this vulnerable state. 

“That’ll be ₩3,500 please,” the purple blur says.

Yoongi holds out his debit card. The purple blur’s fingers brush his as he reaches for it; his skin is warm and very soft. He runs Yoongi’s card, and then holds out the receipt for Yoongi to sign. Straining, Yoongi aims for the signature line and scrawls something. 

The purple blur leans forward to grab the receipt. 

“Thank you… uh, Maeng Woojin-ssi?” 

Yoongi frowns. “Min Yoongi.” 

“Ahh,” the purple blur says. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi. I hope you have a great day!” 

Ugh. Chipper bastard. 

Yoongi steps aside to let the next customer order. The purple blur is entirely too pleasant for Yoongi’s liking. He probably looks like an idiot too, with hair like that.

Yoongi can’t really say for sure, but he’s comfortable with his assumption. 

Finally his order is up. He snatches his cup and heads to the door, mumbling a quick ‘excuse me’ to a fellow coffee lover in a green sweater. That, or one of the big fiddle-leaf figs standing in planters near the doors.

Whatever. Even foliage deserves common courtesy. 

***** 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you just get a new pair if you hate your glasses so much?” 

It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and Big Hit’s contemporary and popular YA fiction team is meeting to go over the submissions they’ve read this week. Yoongi’s been complaining about having to wear his thick-framed black glasses, and Hoseok, rational being that he is, pointed out the obvious. 

“I don’t hate _these_ glasses in particular,” Yoongi mumbles. “I just hate wearing glasses.” 

“But they make you look so _smart and studious_. Our brilliant little Yoongi-ya!” Seokjin says, grinning. 

Yoongi huffs. It’s stupid, he knows, but Hoseok and Seokjin don’t get it. He’d gotten so much shit as a kid for his thick, ugly glasses. Sure, they’re cool now, but Yoongi hasn’t gotten over being called four eyes and having his locker door slammed in his face by those thick-skulled brutes on the baseball team. 

Maybe it’s petty. Maybe he should be over it by now. Whatever. He just doesn’t want to deal with it. 

He’ll be back in contacts soon enough anyway. Only four more weeks of stumbling myopically through the world. 

“I don’t give a fuck what they make me look like. I just hate them,” Yoongi mutters. “We’re wasting time. What did you think of the one about the kid who impersonates his older brother and falls in love with his secretary?” 

“I thought it was sweet,” Seokjin says. 

“Too implausible,” Hoseok says. “And the plotline with the brother goes nowhere.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, flipping through his notes. “I really hated the ending, too. They just get married, just like that? Creepy as fuck.” 

Seokjin frowns. “I thought it was kind of romantic, honestly.” 

Hoseok tuts. “She was eight years older than him,” he says, flipping through the manuscript again. “Maybe if the age difference was smaller…” 

“We agreed we weren’t going to acquire anymore sappy crap,” Yoongi reminds them, moving the transcript into the reject pile. “Refer it to Romance if you love it that much. Next.” 

Hoseok shakes his head. “Those glasses are making you grumpier than usual, hyung.” 

Yoongi scowls. “I’ve always been this grumpy,” he says. “Grumpy as… uh. Something really grumpy. A downright scrooge.” 

Seokjin tuts. “You’re going to fall for someone someday, Yoongi, and I’m going to laugh so hard.” 

Yeah. Sure. Yoongi doesn’t need glasses to see that’s not going to happen. He hasn’t been on a date in years. It’s just so much work, and he feels so awkward, and really he’d rather just be at home, listening to music or reading or sleeping. Getting to know someone is so much damn work, and it’s always pointless anyway. 

“ _Next_ ,” he says again, moving to the next manuscript. This one is about a space alien who masquerades an university professor and falls in love with an actress. “Where do they come up with this shit?” 

***** 

“Good morning. Welcome to Ground Floor. What can I get you today?” 

Seoul is blanketed with heavy, dark clouds that portend midday storms, but the purple blur isn’t letting the weather get him down. He’s just as goddamn pleasant as ever. 

“Americano. No room for milk,” Yoongi mutters, holding out his debit card.

“Ahh, Min Yoongi-ssi,” the purple blur says, apparently recognizing the name. “Good morning. I bet you’re glad you beat the rain, huh?” 

“Morning. Uh. Yeah. Looks like it’s going to be bad” Yoongi keeps his gaze fixed on the blurry counter. He signs the receipt. 

“Stay dry out there,” the purple blur says cheerfully. 

“You too,” Yoongi mumbles as he moves aside so the purple blur can help the next customer. 

Goddamnit. The purple blur isn’t going outside. He’s at work. Dumbass, Min Yoongi.

He stares down at his blurry feet until his coffee is ready and his name is called.

***** 

On Friday, the coffee shop is weirdly busy, and Yoongi has to wait in line. He can see the purple blur, vaguely, behind the counter, and Jimin (familiar pink blur) working the espresso machine. They’re playing an old Drunken Tiger song that Yoongi had been obsessed with in high school, when his artistic ambitions were still more musical than literary. Damn, he’d loved this shit though. As bad as high school had been for him as a short, scrawny, glasses-wearing fuckup – and gay on top of it – there are some good memories too. Great ones, really. That’s part of what had drawn him to YA Fiction in the first place, when he’d been applying for jobs in publishing.

The line creeps forward, and Yoongi thinks back to those long afternoons in his childhood bedroom listening to rap albums he’d painstakingly downloaded on their dial-up internet connection. He’d been really obsessed for a while, had even attempted to write his own verses.

Seems silly now, really. What the fuck had he been thinking? 

 

“Ahh, so you’re a Tiger JK fan, Yoongi-ssi?” 

He’s reached the front of the queue. 

“Huh?” 

 

The purple blur laughs. “The song. You were, y’know, humming along.” 

“Oh,” Yoongi says, mortified. “Yeah. I mean. I was into it. Back in high school, you know?” 

The purple blur nods. He might be smiling. Yoongi tries not to squint. Seokjin has told him over and over that he looks like he wants to kick something when he squints. 

“Cool,” the purple blur says. “You’ve got good taste, man.” 

“Thanks,” Yoongi mumbles. 

“Americano, no room for milk, right?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. Wow. The purple blur knows his order. 

“Namjoon hyung,” Jimin says, stepping up to the counter, “can you take over for me for a second? Taehyung is coming up from the back to grab the register. I need to run and grab more soy milk. We’re almost out.” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. The hipster masses would undoubtedly revolt if they ran out of _soy milk_. 

The purple blur – Namjoon, apparently – says, “Sure thing, Jimin-ah. Just let me finish ringing up Yoongi here.” 

“Hey Yoongi hyung,” Jimin says. He pauses. “Are you okay? You look like your stomach is upset or something.” 

Goddamnit. He’s squinting. He hadn't even realized it. “I’m fine,” Yoongi says, too quickly. 

The Drunken Tiger song ends, and Kick in the Door comes on. Oh shit. A classic. Yoongi had listened to a mixed CD of Notorious B.I.G tracks that an older friend made him obsessively his sophomore year. He can't help but mouth the words along with the song. He knows them all more than a decade on. 

"Damn," Namjoon says, hovering purply behind counter. "A Biggie fan too? You do have good taste, Yoongi-ssi. What do you do? Are you a musician?" 

"Uh," Yoongi says, "No. I work in publishing?" 

“Wow," Namjoon says. "Really? That's amazing. I'm actually getting my Ph.D. in comparative literature at Yonsei. I write a bit, too." 

"Oh," Yoongi says. "Cool." 

Namjoon does something – smiles, maybe? "We should talk books sometime," he says, and there's a lilt in his voice that is almost – maybe – flirty. 

Fuck. Yoongi can't tell. Goddamnit. Why did his eyes have to get irritated? He rues the day he first decided to fall asleep with his contacts in. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "Sure. Right. Uh. I gotta get –" 

"Oh yeah," Namjoon says, setting Yoongi's Americano down on the counter. "Enjoy the coffee!" 

Yoongi makes it outside without colliding with anyone or otherwise embarrassing himself. He carefully steps down onto the sidewalk and squeezes his eyes shut. Shit. God. That had been absolutely mortifying. He's really such an idiot. 

***** 

He goes to another coffee shop the next day – some chain place a few blocks from the office that's always packed in the mornings. It's chaotic with gaudy advertisements. They're playing dumb pop music and the tables are crowded with students. There are no tasteful plants, no poured cement floors, no art on the wall. He can't read the menu without his glasses and the Americano, when he gets it, tastes burnt. 

Fuck. 

*****

Going without coffee isn't an option. Hoseok forbids it. 

Arms folded, he glares at Yoongi. "I don't care _where_ you get coffee. You can swim to Columbia and harvest the beans yourself, hyung. I'm sorry, but you're kind of a nightmare without caffeine." 

Yoongi knows it's true. 

"There's a new barista at the place I go," he mumbles. "He's weird." 

"Weird?" Hoseok arches an eyebrow. 

"He keeps _talking_ to me about shit and –" 

"Oh my god," Hoseok says. "Talking to you? The nerve!" 

Yoongi hangs his head. 

"Just wear your glasses, hyung. Wear your glasses, and get your coffee, and exchange a few pleasantries with this guy like an adult human being."

"Yeah," Yoongi says, but that's easier said than done. 

Hoseok sighs. 

***** 

The weekend is a respite. Thank god for the rise of food delivery apps. Yoongi can, from the comfort and safety of his living room, order all the Americanos he wants and have them delivered to his door by a diffident and superior college student in glasses just as thick and unsightly as his own. 

***** 

He settles into an uncomfortable new routine. Namjoon works Mondays, Tuesday, Thursdays and Fridays. Each morning, before he steps through the door of Ground Floor, Yoongi braces himself for the onslaught. 

Namjoon doesn't ask for his order anymore, which is nice, but he does ask Yoongi: what he's reading, his opinion on Han Kang, his favorite Murakami book (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle), whether he thinks Radiohead is overrated, favorite korean indie group, favorite LCD Soundsystem song, best concert he's ever been to, and favorite color. 

"White?" Namjoon asks. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "You know. Because white is a reflection of the full spectrum of light. I like to leave myself options is what I'm saying." 

"Ah," Namjoon says. "I really like that, hyung." 

(They've moved on to familiar terms of address. Yoongi's not really sure why or how. One day a guy is a purple blur, and the next he's Namjoonie, just like that.) 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "I mean, it's not exactly something I've put a ton of thought into." 

"My favorite color was black," Namjoon says. "But lately I'm trying to branch out." 

"Not purple?" Yoongi asks, gesturing at his own head. 

Namjoon laughs. It's a really endearing laugh. "I do like purple," he admits. "You like the hair, huh?" 

"Uh," Yoongi says. He thinks he might like it if he were able to get a good look at it. "Yeah." 

"Cool," Namjoon says. "I've been debating about whether to get something different, but hey, maybe I'll stick with purple for a while." 

"Cool," Yoongi says, and he smiles. 

He hopes Namjoon is smiling too.

***** 

(It's a crush, okay? He knows it's a crush. He's not an idiot. It's just – he's never even gotten a proper look at Namjoon. What if he's really hot? Yoongi knows he's just whatever. He can't deal with a crush on someone totally out of his league. His life is embarrassing enough.) 

***** 

Another Monday morning rolls around, and Yoongi's almost done with his contact lens moratorium. Next week he goes back to the doctor, and his life can get back to normal. It's a beautiful day. There's not a cloud in the sky, as far as he can tell. He just read a really exciting submission – fascinating stream of consciousness stuff – and he's feeling good.

"Good morning, hyung," Namjoon says. He must have re-dyed his hair, because the purple blur looks more vivid than ever. "You look like you're in a good mood today." 

Yoongi nods. "It's a great day, Namjoon. The sun is shining, and I'm reading something that isn't awful." 

"Nice," Namjoon says. "The usual?" 

"Yup," Yoongi says, handing over his card. 

He hums along with the Father John Misty track they're playing this morning while Namjoon makes his americano. "Hyung," Namjoon says, sounding unusually tentative. "Are you doing anything this Friday?" 

Yoongi frowns. "Just working, I guess. Why?" 

"I'm doing a reading at this coffee shop in Seongsudong," he says. "Uh, it's an excerpt from this longer thing I've been working on, and I was wondering if you might want to come check it out?" 

Yoongi swallows. He knows Namjoon writes – he's mentioned it numerous times before – and it's not the first time he's been asked to a reading for some aspiring author looking to get a foot in the door at Big Hit. 

This doesn't feel like that though. This feels like a date. Damn. This really is good day. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says slowly. "Yeah. I'd like that." 

"Awesome," Namjoon says, sounding relieved. "Hey, give me your phone number and I can text you all the information." 

"So I finally get to see if you're more than just talk, huh?" Yoongi asks, after they're exchanged information. 

Namjoon laughs. "I am just talk," he confesses, "but I figured you liked guys with a way with words." 

"Uh," Yoongi says. 

Definitely a date then. 

Right?

***** 

"I mean," Yoongi says, as he and Seokjin are walking to lunch later that day. "I've never really seen the guy, but he's got decent taste in music and he's well read and he's got a great laugh. He's annoyingly friendly." 

"Hmm," Seokjin says. 

"So," Yoongi says, squaring his shoulders. "I think it's a date."

"Sounds like you want it to be a date," Seokjin says, slyly. 

Yoongi huffs. "Well, I just don't want it to be weird. What if whatever he's reading from is crappy? He mentioned Bukowski the other day, hyung." 

They both grimace. 

"I'm going in my personal and private capacity," Yoongi says firmly. Then, more nervously, "Hopefully the Bukowski thing was just a phase." 

"So are you going to wear your glasses to this date?" Seokjin asks. 

Yoongi waves a hand. "It's just a reading. There's not going to be anything to see." 

Seokjin laughs, and Yoongi laughs too, because he knows he's being ridiculous. Whatever. If this is a date, though, there's even more reason not to wear his glasses. He doesn't want to show up looking like a dope. 

There's some construction up ahead. Yoongi can see the orange cones. They're always doing construction lately, it seems. This area is booming, which is probably why Namjoon is making him go all the way out Seongsudong. Ground Floor's gonna have to move or something if they want to maintain their hipster cred. 

"Hey," Seokjin says. "Yoongi, watch out for –" 

"Huh?" Yoongi turns to glance over at Seokjin just as he steps down into – nothing? He stumbles, tripping over some hole in the sidewalk and falling face first towards a ground he can't clearly see. He gets his arms up just before he faceplants into cement, landing heavily on his right wrist. There's a weird sick crack, and then a bolt of pain shoots up Yoongi's arm. 

"Oh fuck," he mumbles. 

"Yoongi," Seokjin says. "Oh my god." He crouches down to help Yoongi sit up. "Are you okay?" 

"No," Yoongi spits. "Fuck. My wrist." He grimaces. The pain is really fucking bad. He's not going to cry. He's not going to. He's not. 

*****

Yoongi waits two hours in the emergency room to have a frazzled doctor inform him that he's fractured his distal radius. 

"Thankfully, it's a clean fracture," the doctor says. "You won't need surgery." 

"Oh good," Yoongi says, dryly. He’s not feeling very thankful for anything at all right now.

"We'll take another set of X-rays in a month and see how it's healing, but I expect you'll have the cast off in no more than six weeks." 

"Six weeks?" Yoongi's face falls. "Seriously?" 

The doctor nods. "At least," he says. He shakes his head. "What were you doing, anyway, Yoongi-ssi? On your phone, I bet. People talk about the dangers of texting and driving, but texting and walking is no less dangerous, young man!" 

Yoongi doesn't even have the heart to protest.

*****

He works the rest of the week from home, mostly to salve his bruised ego. Idiot. He's really an idiot. If he'd just worn his goddamn glasses he wouldn't be in this mess. 

Friday morning he wakes up late. He rolls over in bed, grabs his glasses off the night stand and checks his phone, only to find he's got a text from Namjoon. 

_Everything okay? Haven't seen you the last few days._

Shit. Shit. The reading. Goddamnit. 

_Yeah!! Looking forward to tonight!_

Is that too many exclamation points? Fuck. He's going to have to ask one of the copy editors. 

_Cool. See you tonight_

Damn. Namjoon didn't use an exclamation point. Now Yoongi looks like an overeager idiot. 

He blames it on the pain medication and goes back to sleep. 

That evening, after suffering the indignation of showering with his right hand in a plastic bag and struggling to dress and brush his hair and shave left handed, he puts on his glasses grabs his wallet, and heads out for Seongsudong. 

He takes the subway, figuring he'll take a taxi back. It's not too late, but he's tired, and he's beginning to wish he'd told Namjoon that he couldn't make it. He wants to go, is the thing. He wants to go see Namjoon read, but he's tired and his wrist aches and he didn't eat any dinner and he's wearing his goddamn glasses. 

He's not exactly on his A game. 

He climbs out of the subway and walks a few blocks to the address Namjoon sent him. It's a tiny place, with a facade plastered in old show posters, protest signs, and other ephemera. He can't tell if this collage evolved naturally, or if it's all for effect. 

Inside, the place is low-ceilinged and dark but a bit bigger than he'd been expecting. There are a few shelves with some books for sale – indie stuff, mostly. Yoongi can tell by the bindings. There's a bar along one wall, a motley collection of chairs and tables, and a little raised platform with a stool and a mic at the far end of the room. 

This is it, then. 

He looks around, but he doesn't immediately see anyone with purple hair. Shit. What if he's late? What if it's over? What if Namjoon decided not to come? What if –

"Yoongi hyung!" 

He turns. Standing near the end of the bar is a tall, slim guy with a great smile, kind eyes, killer dimples – and purple hair. 

Oh shit. 

Namjoon pushes through the crowd. "I thought you were going to flake out on me," he says, grinning. 

It's a hundred watt smile. Yoongi can't believe he's been missing it this whole time. 

"Nope," Yoongi says, feeling all off kilter. "I just had to deal with, uh –" 

He holds up his right hand. 

Namjoon's eyes go wide. He's absolutely adorable. Oh god. 

Yoongi wrinkles his nose. "Yeah," he says. "I tripped the other day." 

Namjoon stifles a smile. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't laugh. I'm just used to being the one tripping over shit. I'm notoriously clumsy."

"Yeah," Yoongi mutters. "Well, I'm not exactly Mr. Smooth myself." 

Namjoon keeps beaming at him pleasantly. "I'm really glad you came out," he says. "Uh. I think we're about to get started, so I'm gonna head back, but if you have time, hang out after we're done, okay?" 

Yoongi nods. 

Namjoon heads back towards the stage, such as it is. Yoongi gets a drink and checks out some of the books for sale. It's an interesting selection, and he takes a few picture with his phone, names and titles he wants to look up later. 

It's a nice evening. The first performer is a woman who reads an excerpt from a memoir about growing up on her grandmother's farm. The second is a kid from Busan with big eyes and a nervous air who reads a short story about boy named Seagull who goes on a road trip. It's a bit meandering, but there's real talent there. Namjoon is last. His piece is more experimental – not quite spoken word, but kind of a funny half-verse story about a day with his dog, who gives him the cold shoulder as they wander through Seoul. There's some interesting metaphor work, Yoongi thinks, casting the dog as modernity and the unnamed narrator as tradition. Yoongi wonders if Namjoon will let him have a print copy, so he can read it again. 

It's charming, utterly charming, and not at all what Yoongi expected. 

Namjoon ends his reading to a volley of polite applause. The MC steps up to say a polite few words, and then people are crowding forward to congratulate Namjoon and ask questions. 

Yoongi hangs back, still holding his now empty glass. He's a little tired, and he's just about at the point of getting up to tell Namjoon he needs to head out when Namjoon steps through the crowd and waves. 

"Hey," he says. "Sorry. I couldn't get away. So. What did you think, hyung?" He seems a bit nervous, maybe. 

"I liked it," Yoongi says honestly. "I thought it was a little too dense, but it was really good." 

Namjoon smiles again, relieved. "Thank god," he says. "I know it's kind of childish but –" 

"I've told you I read for YA fiction, haven't I?” Yoongi says. “This wasn't childish. It was charming." 

Namjoon looks absolutely thrilled. 

Maybe Yoongi's wrong. Maybe this _isn't_ a date. Maybe he's been wrong all along. Namjoon is tall and gorgeous and obviously talented. There's no way he's single. There's no way he'd ask Yoongi out if he were. He probably just wanted a little free advice from a publishing professional. He probably–

"So," Namjoon says, leaning back on his heels. "I might be making an idiot out of myself, but do you want to get out of here and get something to eat?" 

"Huh?" Yoongi tilts his head. 

Namjoon laughs awkwardly. "It's totally cool if you don't," he says, too quickly. "I'm probably reading this all wrong. I mean, you never said anything when I gave you my number, so –" 

"Gave me your number?" What is he talking about? 

Namjoon blushes. "That day you were humming along to the Biggie song. On your cup? I wrote my number and said to call me if you wanted to talk about music sometime." 

Oh god. Fuck. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. He's an idiot. He's an absolute moron. 

"Namjoon," he says. "I didn't see it." 

Namjoon's smile fades. "You don't need to make an excuse, hyung. If you're not interested I–" 

"No," Yoongi says. "No. I literally didn't see it. I'm... I haven't been wearing my glasses." 

"Oh, yeah," Namjoon says. "I noticed the glasses. They look good on you." 

They do? No. That's not the point. "I haven't been wearing them," Yoongi says, "and I haven't been wearing my contacts. I didn't see your note. I didn't even really know what you looked like. I broke my wrist because I'm a goddamn idiot who tripped because I can't see six inches in front of my face without these damn glasses." 

Namjoon narrows his eyes. "You're fucking with me right now, aren't you?" 

"No," Yoongi says. "I'm not fucking with you. I came here looking for a blur with purple hair and I found you." 

"That's ridiculous," Namjoon says. 

"I know," Yoongi agrees. "I'm a fucking mess." 

"I mean," Namjoon says. "You agreed to go on a date with me and you didn't even know what I looked like?" 

Yoongi stares at his feet. "I knew you were tall. And had purple hair. And liked good music and good books – mostly – and you make a mean americano." He pauses. "Is this a date, then?" 

"If you want it to be," Namjoon says, "after getting a look at my ugly mug." 

"Shut up," Yoongi says, offended. "You're adorable." 

Namjoon grins the biggest, stupidest grin yet. "Wait here one second," he says, and he ducks behind the bar only to return with a sharpie. "Can I sign your cast?" 

Seriously? Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he holds up his wrist. 

Namjoon leans forward and scribbles something. He caps the pen triumphantly when he's done. 

Yoongi peers down at what he's written. 

_KIM NAMJOON (check one) Y ❏ N ❏_

He frowns. "What is this? Middle school?" 

Namjoon just clasps his hands behind his back. "I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits. “Well?" 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but checks the box next to Y. "Does that get me dinner, then?" 

"I think so," Namjoon says, reaching for Yoongi's hand. "Let’s go. Watch your step, hyung." 

Yoongi gives him the finger. Namjoon just laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/roebling_writes)! Come say hi!


End file.
